


I Must Profess

by Junekohmy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Depressed Will, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Hannibal is in love with Will first, M/M, No Cannibalism, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Slow-ish burn, Top Will, both are college professors, encephalitis, height swap because I want Will to be tall boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junekohmy/pseuds/Junekohmy
Summary: Hannigram teacher AU where things are a bit more simple.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	I Must Profess

Tired, so tired. It seemed like the bags under his eyes couldn’t get much heavier. Jack was on his ass the whole day, and Alana and her ‘professional curiosity’ were getting more and more irritating with the passing of time. Not even the stale taste of instant coffee could quell the exhausted nerves in the back of his neck. The sicily aroma of fever coated his damp skin, nothing the dollar store cologne could do about it now that it had festered for days on ibuprofen.

There wasn’t much more of this he could take. 

With a hearty sigh, he clasped his glasses into his collar and pinched the bridge of his nose warily. Had it always been like this? Day after day of teaching these kids, lesson after lesson of these gruesome images. He shuddered at the thought of becoming one with them. Both the corpse and the killer were so close to him now, haunting his dreams, fish eyes staring directly into his, pouring their saltwater secrets into the capsule of his skull. 

It hurt.   
It hurt so much to look.

The throbbing in the back of his head pounded more forcefully, something in his head was trying to get out, squirming and writhing like a fresh catch. He winced at the pressure, the cup of coffee crinkled in his clammy grasp, the black liquid slipping out to spill out onto the linoleum of the hallway. It did not stop, the steady flow of murky black filled the school until the rush of fluid was swimming past his kneecaps, dozens of fish peering up at him as if the soft toned flannel was a bright lure. Will swayed once, twice. Heavy body slumping against the wall with a quiet thump. He did not scream or make a fuss, quietly accepting of his body’s decision to slide down and rest. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sun was dipping shallowly into the horizon, the soft sounds of a broom sweeping filled the lobby as Hannibal passed with the reserved elegance he always put up, making his way to his office to fetch the lesson plans he had stored away. The occasional light flickered in from an open room, but the hallway in the back of the school was unlit. He checked his watch as he passed the windows and doors, noting that the conference had gone much past it’s allotted time with a click of his tongue. His heels clicked against the floor loudly as he passed the office of Professor Graham, recalling his absence from said conference. Hannibal’s lips pursed and he halted his tracks in front of his open door.   
Pale LED’s shed light into every crevice of the room overhead, the desk had papers askew and there was a cheap mug with a school labeled pen and a half chewed pencil. He wrinkled his nose distastefully at that. It looked like the man had been there just moments before and had left in a hurry. Unfortunate, but not out of character for the perpetually disheveled professor. Seeing this environment Will had created for himself made him relax a bit. Perhaps he would ask Will to join him for lunch the next day. They dined together a few days out of the week, for Hannibal it was mostly out of pity for his colleague's lack of a proper meal. He wanted to see the man fed, and Will was polite enough to him if not a bit formal. His company was preferred to that of the students as it were anyway.   
With all of these thoughts consuming him on the way down the hall towards his own room, he was shocked when the image of Will Graham was projected in front of him.  
A pale figure, unmoving, sprawled against the left wall, bathed in the shadows. His curly hair was ink, curled into wisps to join in a puddle of murky black. A pair of glasses lay broken beside him.   
It looked like murder.  
Hannibal was instantly disturbed and teary, he fell to his knees beside Will’s body and used the back of his hand to brush away some of the mattedlochs of brown from his cheek in reverence. 

“Will…!” He wanted to shout, but it came as a hoarse whisper. Long fingers traced his cheek, where he found it to be shockingly warm, the coldness of death haunted not this man. 

He let out a shaky sigh of relief, air flooding out of his lungs at the turbulent array of emotions he had just experienced. Hannibal’s mind felt like it had just experienced a violent and deep loss, and he was still reeling in from it when he was dialing for an ambulance, and still when he was visiting the man in the hospital the next day, and even still when those tragic blue botticelli eyes turned upon him in thanks when he awoke. It was when Will placed a calloused, grateful hand upon his own that he realized he was in love with him. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Will begrudgingly made his way back to work after his bout of encephalitis, making note to use it as an excuse should anything come up in the day that was a minor inconvenience, trotting sulkily through the swarm of overeager college students with minimal interaction. The dean, Bella Crawford, hailed for him across the lawn, but he pretended not to see in case it was anything Jack was up to in favor of cutting through the crowd to intercept an unsuspecting Hannibal. The man was just a touch smaller than he, his wheat brown (impossibly and annoyingly straight) hair was his target for the morning. As soon as he reached that aristocratic looking bastard, he brought a palm up and patted it just enough to ruffle free a few hairs affectionately. It was difficult to not mess with him, Hannibal was the only person in his admittedly small social circle that he could be at ease with. 

“Good morning Professor Graham, I see you’ve recovered enough for your usual antics.” He hummed disapprovingly, though the curve of his lips betrayed him. He made no attempt to right his hair.

“How else am I supposed to express my thanks? I got almost half a week off thanks to you, paid, you’re lucky I’m not praying to you.” Will replied with a rough chuckle.   
The sight of Will relaxing happily warmed Hannibal’s face, contentment washing over him.   
“A simple lunch would suffice, although I find your abilities as a cook to be a bit lacking.” He mused, smoothing down his blazer with ease. 

“‘A bit lacking’ would be generous. I ended up enjoying the hospital food more than I did the casserole I made last Tuesday.” Wil noted, biting his lip and running his hand over his stubbled jaw. “Please, tell me we’re having lunch together today, I'm going into withdrawal without your home cooking.” 

The two arrived at Will’s lecture room just as he finished, Hannibal merely waved his lunch bag that was clearly full enough for the both of them with a knowing smirk, heading off to his own with that little click of his heel. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Time seemed to pass by more quickly for both of them after Will’s incident, but they didn’t enjoy it any less. Will’s perception of Hannibal had changed, but not terribly. He felt closer to this enigma of a man, someone he could consider a friend, someone to talk to and enjoy time with amidst the work of serial killers and turmoil of unedited essays that he longed to rip to a thousand miniscule pieces and feed to his seven dogs. Of which, Winston currently prodded a wet nose at his open palm that had dangled over the side of his seat as he nodded off distantly.  
Will was coming to the realization that Hannibal was his only friend. He was equal parts elated and depressed. On one hand, he had never had a friend before Hannibal, and on the other he had yet to call the man by his first name. Intimacy was difficult. 

He ran the back of his hand over his sweaty brow and quietly fed the dogs their dinner that night, glancing warily at his messy bed in the corner of the living room. It was dark, lamplit for the night, but the dogs were by the heaters during the nippy fall so it was still pleasantly warm. It was going to be another sweaty night full of terrors and flashes, but at least the illness had lessened to be bearable.   
The Stag beat it’s hoof on the soft earth beside his porch, demanding attention to which he ignored, tucking a long leg into the soft blankets with Winston curled into his nest. He thought of Hannibal while he tucked an arm around the fluffy mound, wondering if he was also soft to the tough. It had been so long since he had touched someone. Maybe he was latching onto the thoughts of him as a way of coping. He tucked those observations away into the recesses of his mind and pressed his nose in fur, closing his eyes and drifting off.

Miles away, Hannibal could not do the same.


End file.
